Badger and Lion
by Dusk Magnum
Summary: (Part 6 Up) Harry discovers that the humble Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, whom he has long regarded as a friendly rival, has more layers than he thought. (Harry-Cedric SLASH)
1. Part 1: In the Prefects' Bathroom

Badger and Lion

Author: Dusk Magnum

_Created:_ July 8, 2004

Date Written: July 8, 2004

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because Harry needs a significant other (which is where our humble Hufflepuff comes into play), but seeing as I don't, I'd rather like to make this clear. Jo owns the story and all the characters, not me, darn it, so leave me alone already!

Notes: _Italics _denote thought.

Part 1: In the Prefects' Bathroom

There were things… some things… that Harry could understand. He could understand Quidditch, sure; he had never felt more alive than when playing a speedy, dangerous, exhilarating game of Quidditch, dodging Bludgers and catching the fluttering Golden Snitch. He could understand Summoning Charms—which Professor Flitwick liked to remind him every time he passed him in the corridors—and he prided himself in it, and was almost known for it now throughout Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He could understand Ron and Hermione—however often they quarreled—and their subsequent understanding of him. But there were also many, many things he didn't understand. 

He couldn't, for instance, begin to fathom what Cho Chang saw in Cedric Diggory. He didn't understand why Cedric was so liable to beat him in everything he did. He didn't understand why his name had suddenly erupted, the edges of the paper in which it was written charred, from the Goblet of Fire. He didn't understand why no one would believe him, and he certainly didn't understand why Cedric kept stealing furtive looks at him in the halls, as if trying to exchange a forbidden coded message.

For once, Harry wanted to get the upper hand of things. Just for once, he wanted to win and show people that he could be known for something other than his single-handed defeat of Voldemort as a one-year-old baby. He wanted to emerge, triumphant, with the Triwizard cup, into a tumult of enraptured cheers, wanted to see Cho's glowing face, shining with happiness and admiration, wanted for once to come out on top and beat Cedric in something. He wanted more than anything to prove his worth.

So when Cedric had given him the message regarding the golden egg at Christmas, unclear and cryptic though it was, he had thought vaguely about it from time to time, always keeping it in the back of his mind but nevertheless considering it. Of course, it could've been perceived as rude for Cedric to tell him to take a bath, but Cedric wasn't the sort of person that would do such a thing; maybe he genuinely wanted to help. Reluctant though he was to accept so much as a Knut from the person who had stolen Cho's heart, he very much wanted to figure out the golden egg's clue, as February the twenty-fourth was drawing nearer, heralding the second task. And what was it, anyway? Was it really a banshee—or did he have to fight the Cruciatus Curse (or possibly attack Percy in the shower…)? What was the significance of the mysterious egg?

Finally, when he decided he didn't want his pride to get the best of him, he decided to sneak out of Gryffindor Tower and finally discover the secret of the egg. Ron waited for him at the portrait and opened it for him; he crept out, whispering words of gratitude, as Ron murmured "Good luck" and disappeared back into the common room. He looked quickly at the Marauder's Map he held by wandlight in his hand. Filch, Mrs. Norris, and Peeves, the three things most likely to cause hindrance in his midnight quest, were off elsewhere, busying themselves with patrolling the corridors (or in Peeves's case, catapulting the heads of suits of armor at Nearly Headless Nick, who was passing). Harry crept up a staircase and began making his way slowly to the prefects' bathroom.

He held up his wand in the darkness, fully aware that he and his wandlight were quite undetectable in the darkness of Hogwarts Castle at one o'clock in the night, and noticed something stirring in the shadows.

Immediately, Harry jumped, but recognized the pale, smooth features of Cedric Diggory, dark curls bouncing slightly as he kept to the shadows beneath the windows, listening for the ever-present Filch, who Harry knew was too far away to even rely on one of his handy secret passages to find Cedric. The seventh-year Hogwarts champion made his way directly to the door in which Harry was about to arrive at, muttered "pine fresh" in a carrying whisper, and slipped through the door. Harry nipped in as well before the door shut and, unseen, leaned against the wall and retained a firmer grip on his egg.

The room was a dazzling white, made almost entirely of marble and lit softly with candles, even at night. A large, rectangular swimming pool was sunk into the middle of the floor in this wondrous room, and Harry's jaw dropped when he discovered it was a rather widely-proportionate bath tub of sorts. Cedric allowed the water to fill itself and filled the tub with bubbles; as he turned more taps set around the tub, multi-colored curtains of mist enshrouded Cedric as he slipped out of a bathrobe and disappeared into the pool. It was like he was behind a veil of fog; it was only until the haze thinned a little five minutes later that Harry could see Cedric wading in the pool, inscribing a trail through the bubbles. He wondered if he ought to reveal that he had an Invisibility Cloak, or if he could pretend he'd been here all the time.

As Cedric dipped underwater, Harry quickly stuffed his invisibilty cloak to the floor; its silvery coating and texture went quite unnoticed on the equally-ethereal color of the tile. He used it to cover both wand and map and, egg under arm, approached the pool. When Cedric breached the surface of the water, he noticed Harry and leapt back, choking.

"Oh!" Harry said in surprise, watching as Cedric coughed extravagantly and spouted out a jet of water. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it," the teen sputtered, managing a small grin through his hacking. When he regained his bearings, he looked at Harry as though he were the Golden Snitch. "You're actually here!"

"And so are you," Harry reported matter-of-factly, kneeling down with the golden egg. "Fancy night-time baths, do you?"

Cedric grinned, seeing the strangeness of the situation, and inclined his head slowly. "Oh, yeah. It's the only way to go," he said jokingly, paddling backward in the water and brushing the dripping curls of hair out of his face.

_Wonder what's he actually doing here. Surely he's not too shy to bathe with the rest of the prefects?_

"But really," Harry said, voicing his thoughts aloud, "what are you doing here?"

"Thought I could help you out on your egg," Cedric reported, cocking his head to the side. "You know, I wasn't entirely helpful with my suggestion. And you were pretty straightforward with yours—dragons are coming, defend yourself or run away. I just… er, told you to take a bath." He laughed. "Not helpful, really."

_If he's come to wangle information out of me for the egg, he's not getting any._

Harry didn't say this aloud; he felt it would give Cedric the impression that he was as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody. He smiled slightly, aware again that he was so immensely jealous of Cedric that he couldn't think straight. Cedric had beat him at Quidditch, he'd become the highly-supported and renowned champion of Hogwarts (surely Harry's performance in the first task hadn't put a dent in his popularity), and he had stolen away Harry's crush, Cho. His face reddened at the thought of the Ravenclaw Seeker.

"No, not too terribly," he said, suddenly remembering it was expected to respond. Cedric grinned and motioned to the bath.

"You can get in if you like," he said nonchalantly, but his voice quavered ever so slightly in the last syllable. _Huh?_ "The water's always really warm, the prefects' bath must be bewitched or something. Plus, the bubbles. Provides for hours of entertainment." He smiled expectantly at Harry, who was going more red than before. _Right, getting into baths with other boys. It's not on my list of things to do before I get out of Hogwarts._

"Erm…" Harry said, and Cedric, looking horrified, said, "Forget it, no, you don't have to, I realize it was sort of an invasion of privacy—"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, but all the same, he didn't get in. Maybe it was a trick of the technicolor shroud now floating around the Hogwarts champion, but Harry thought he saw a glimmer of disappointment in Cedric's gray eyes. After recovering from the awkward moment, he continued, "So, you said you were going to help more?"

Cedric, still looking sheepish, said, "Yeah, might as well."

A moment of silence ensued. Harry wondered whether he ought get into the bath—it looked extremely inviting with the green, purple, red, blue and yellow bubbles drifting lazily on its surface, and steam gently rising from its depths—but it would just be weird. Especially considering it was someone he thought of as a rival, someone that he thought of as a girlfriend-stealer, and envied beyond all people at Hogwarts almost as much as he liked him. It was hard not to take a shining to someone who was so nice.

_Why is he so nice, anyway? Did his parents just bring him up right or is he buttering people up?_ It made perfect sense, really. He needed to get something, he could easily just show a sunny disposition to someone and get what he needed without them ever knowing what was going on. But after seeing the things that Cedric had done and hearing about him from all the people in school (mostly girls), he pretty much thought he had the seventh-year down. He was just nice. Right?

"So—are you going to just tell me, or do you like watching people struggle?" Harry said with a faint smile. He was looking at the golden egg with a feeling of sinking despair in his stomach, the feeling he got every time he remembered that the second task drew nearer every minute. Cedric grinned, seeing Harry's nervousness.

"I don't know—I'm an old-fashioned guy, Harry. I think people should figure things out for themselves—be independent—but what the heck, why not." His smile broadened and Harry returned it, the pangs in his stomach quite evaporating at the thought of finally discovering the secret of the golden egg.

Harry considered once again the prospect of dipping into the warm bath, but shook it out of his head. _Awkward,_ he told himself, _just plain awkward._

Cedric swam forward and held out his hands. Harry got the impression that he was supposed to take them, but Cedric gestured meaningfully to the egg clutched firmly under his right arm, and Harry, feeling slightly ashamed, surrendered the golden prize. Cedric studied it hard, opened it, and the prefects' bathroom erupted into horrible, piercing shrieks; Cedric clamped it shut firmly, smiled pointedly at Harry, and lowered the egg under the water. Harry had a rather protective sense towards it now, and as the seventh year submerge it in the heavily-perfumed, soapy bath water, he felt the strongest urge to lunge in and take it back. He watched through a minute patch clear of bubbles as Cedric opened the egg under the water. Not a trace of a shriek could be heard, but Harry could distinctly hear a faint, haunting snatch of music….

"This is where being in the water helps," Cedric said knowingly, and made room for Harry as he dipped his head under the water after taking a breath.

"Come seek us where our voices sound… we cannot sing above the ground… but while you're searching, ponder this… we've taken what you'll sorely miss… but past an hour, the prospect's black… too late, it's gone, it won't come back…"

He dipped his head under the water thrice more until he had memorized the haunting tune, and looked into the eager face of Cedric Diggory upon emerging from the water's depths for the fourth time. His face was alight with excitement but an overall sense of dread that Harry could've sensed standing outside the room. "Brilliant, isn't it?" he said.

Harry stared. "Er… yes."

"Oh, right, you only just heard the song, you haven't had time to work it out," he said apologetically, putting Harry's egg back on the tile, where it dripped water.

"It's merpeople, Harry! Merpeople! Don't you see what we have to do?" Cedric said quickly, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and delight that made Harry's insides quiver unprecedentedly. Perhaps Cedric's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Er—"

"We've got to go to the lake! We've got to dive under and take what we'll sorely miss… whatever that is. It's great! I love swimming."

Harry's insides, positively squirming with delight, seemed to erode away as if caught unawares by a Vanishing Spell. Cedric noticed his sudden change in attitude and, looking concerned, leaned in closer. "Harry? Are you okay?" he asked. Harry nodded absentmindedly; he didn't know how to swim at all, apparently unlike Cedric, who had just seconds ago looked positively elated at the thought of the second task.

"That's… that's bad," he finally responded. Cedric grinned.

"I can help, of course—I know I've heard about this underwater survival thing somewhere, Flitwick or Moody or SOMEONE's mentioned it, I just know they have." He paused, looking slightly apprehensive. "You know, we might be able to help each other out in this tournament," he added, his voice sounding weaker and less excited. "I reckon with your uncanny ability to know stuff before it happens and my powers of deduction, we could pull off a Hogwarts victory in the end."

"Yeah—maybe—" Harry said, his mind still on the lake. "Maybe." His eyes darted back to the bath, which looked more welcoming than ever. Reluctantly, he wrenched his eyes away, connecting the bath water with the fathoms-deep lake of Hogwarts…. How on earth would he be able to breathe underwater?

_This is it, this is the end of the tournament for me…_

"Don't look so worried!" Cedric said, clapping a masculine and wet hand on Harry's shaking shoulder. "You'll do fine, I know you will. You were absolutely AMAZING with that Horntail, Harry, and I mean it. You'll do great." Harry looked up at the cheerful, resplendent face of Cedric and felt his worries lighten ever so slightly. He, at least, managed a polite grin back, the thought of the lake evaporating as he stared into the broad, handsome features of his friendly rival.

"Thanks," Harry said, "for the vote of confidence. But I'm not so sure you're right."

"Of course I'm right," Cedric contradicted, then shook his head. "That came out wrong. But you know what I mean! I've noticed you around school, too. You don't give yourself enough credit, man. The Sorcerer's Stone… and that basilisk…. In your second year, Harry. That's a pretty mean feet for someone of that age. I'm seventeen, and I'm not even sure what I'm going to do in this tournament."

Harry considered these words and sighed. "Maybe. But all of that was pure luck."

"But you did good under pressure, and that's what they're looking for, you know," Cedric reassured. "We stick with each other, we're bound to win. We can really help each other along the path, I reckon. But only if you want to," he added hastily, smiling again sheepishly. "It's totally up to you. Completely."

Harry nodded slowly, his heart feeling less constricted. _Maybe he really does want something from me. Why else would he be so nice?_

"You know what I'd like? If we could get together next Hogsmeade trip." Cedric's deep gray eyes shone like a beacon. "We could talk, you know. I'd really like it if you were my friend."

_Something has GOT to be up with him. What is he, St. Diggory?_ But all the same, Harry felt heartened. Looking into Cedric's face was like peering into the very personification of kindness. Harry nodded. "I'd like that, too," he said, grinning despite himself. Cedric nodded and swam slightly to the right, startling Harry. "Where are you going?" he asked.

The seventh year reddened slightly. "I should probably get back to bed," he said. "You know what's coming, at least. That's something. So, maybe we could talk some time? About the Triwizard tournament, or Quidditch, or, you know, whatever?"

Harry nodded, knowing he should've felt annoyed with Cedric, the object of Cho's affection, the shining glimmer of achievement… but he didn't. Cedric got out of the bath, pale planes of muscle working as he walked quickly towards the other end of the bathroom (Harry's face grew hot, though he didn't really notice), performed a complex-looking charm that apparently dried his entire body, and pulled on his bathrobe. He turned around, smiling, and to Harry's surprise his cheeks were also tinged pink. "Well, g'night," he said, grinned heartily once more, and stepped out of the prefects' bathroom, leaving Harry to dwell on their conversation and the knowledge of the second task he'd just acquired.

**TBC **

_DM, Signing Off:_

Hello! I'm Dusk Magnum, author of this story. Biggest Harry/Cedric shipper in the world, I can guarantee you that (I think), and want to make it clear that this is my first ever fan fiction. I am a flourishing writer (or I like to think so) on Fiction Press, however, and the address to my profile and stories are on my bio, so check it out and send a review my way if you feel like it… Reviews are always, always welcome, and constructive criticism is essential. Be mean if you feel the need to be, because I'm a bit of a manners-free nitpicker when I review, so feel free…. And I will definitely review a piece of your work if you do the same to mine.

Here's to a successful fic! **Dusk Magnum**


	2. Part 2: The Hufflepuff Seeker

Badger and Lion

Author: Dusk Magnum

Created: July 8, 2004

Date Written: July 9, 2004

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because Harry needs a significant other (which is where our humble Hufflepuff comes into play), but seeing as I don't, I'd rather like to make this clear. Jo owns the story and all the characters, not me, darn it, so leave me alone already!

Notes: I will be changing a few things around in the timeline of _Goblet of Fire_; things will be slightly different, and I may even input a few spells that Harry uses in _Order of the Phoenix _that we've never seen him learn in class. So if you can't remember some of the spells and work that Harry's doing, a lot of it was probably never in the original _Goblet of Fire._

Part 2: The Hufflepuff Seeker

The day after Harry and Cedric's conversation in the prefects' bathroom dawned cold and gray, the sun weakly shining through the clouds before becoming completely enshrouded in the silvery mass of clouds. Harry was feeling distinctly confident, an obvious side-effect of knowing what he was to face in the second task, and it was all through the efforts of the seventh-year Hufflepuff, to whom he practically owed his life. Of course, he would've found out the secret of the egg eventually… wouldn't he? A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that Cedric was the only reason he was forewarned about the deadly trials that would take place on February the twenty-fourth, but Harry wasn't exactly dumb; he could've figured it out, especially with the help of Ron and Hermione. Harry told Ron and Hermione themselves the next morning about what he'd learned, editing the parts about meeting Cedric, though he didn't really know why. He supposed it was because he wanted them to think he'd figured it out all by himself—which hadn't happened yet in the Triwizard tournament—but for some reason the voice in the back of his head, which assumed the exact tone and inflection of Professor McGonagall, told him that it was for other reasons. He ignored it and told them in detail about the mersong in which he had bore witness to underwater. When he finished his story, Hermione looked both apprehensive and reproachful. 

"You said you'd figured out the egg ages ago!" she said stonily. Harry smartly chose to ignore her.

"How am I going to survive under the water anyway?" he asked the two of them, as if Hermione had never spoken. "Cedric says—" But he stopped himself. Ron, rapt with attention, stared at him with his eyebrow raised, and Hermione sat huffily eating her bacon, apparently not noticing that Harry had said something he didn't want to.

"Diggory?" Ron said. "What about _him_?"

"Nothing," Harry said, scouring his brain for an excuse, "it's just that he said something to me about the egg's clue and I didn't really get it until now but—"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione said. "It probably would've given you more time to figure out how to breathe underwater. What did he say, anyway?"

"Nothing," Harry repeated nervously, as the voice of Professor McGonagall hissed sentiments and possible alibis in his ear. "Well, I can't really remember now. But—" he snatched upon the chance to reveal the scrap of information Cedric had given him, "—he DID say something about one of the teachers mentioning it. Like Flitwick or Moody or someone." Harry and Ron both looked at Hermione, who was staring at her eggs, apparently thinking hard. When she noticed their intent gazes, she looked up and said, "What?"

"Well, you've memorized everything your teachers have ever said," Ron said casually. "So tell us, Hermione. Who's mentioned underwater breathing?"

"I don't know!" Hermione said, looking affronted. "Honestly, I can't remember _everything_, you're so—wait…" She stopped in mid-insult, looking disappointed. "Cedric Diggory is in seventh year, isn't he?" she said. "Flitwick and McGonagall and Moody and all of the teachers that might have a way to help Harry out teach more advanced magic to the seventh years." She stopped, surveying her two friends with sad eyes. "Which means that not only have they probably not mentioned it in class, Harry won't be able to perform such a powerful spell."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry said glumly, mirroring his words from the night before with a different tone of voice.

"Oh, don't listen to her," Ron assured, giving Harry a pat on the back; Hermione looked at him coolly. "She's just jealous because she hasn't learned seventh year magic yet. You'll figure it and out, and we'll help you."

Hermione seemed like she wanted to say something to Ron but didn't. "Yes, of course we'll help," she said. Harry didn't feel much better, but smiled approvingly and buried himself in a plate of pancakes, the knot in his stomach tightening with every swallow as he thought not only about the second task, which drew nearer as the minutes ticked away, but the conversation he'd had with Cedric the night before. It was so different from the usual atmosphere that surrounded the two when they made contact; it was more relaxed, and less competitive, or at least that's the impression he'd gotten. _What _did _happen last night anyway?_

After breakfast, Ron, Hermione, and Harry went straight to Transfiguration, where they less-than-effectively learned to Transfigure a lamp into a bird; then off to Charms, where they practiced learning how to repair exceedingly larger objects. Hermione was eyeing a wonderfully accurate diagram of repairing a broken window and said distractedly, "I wonder if Professor Flitwick would let us do that." Harry, too, was looking at a diagram, this time reflecting the proper enunciation of the spell and the swishing movement of the wand used to effectively perform the Mending Spell. Ron was jabbing his wand at a broken clay vase and saying, "_Reparo! Reparo! _Come on, you idiot, _Reparo_!" The vase lay still in five pieces, but one of them flew upward and zoomed into Hermione's Charms book just as she shut it. Ron groaned.

"Hermione! Flitwick takes off points if we damage the broken materials any further!" he groaned, eyeing Hermione's impressive array of repaired objects that sat lined up at the end of her desk in a proprietary fashion. She frowned at him, opened up her book, and pointed her wand at the many minute fragments of crunched vase, waving her wand in a complicated manner and whispering, _"Reparo_." Instantly, the pieces of vase flew back together, and she hand the large chunk to Ron, who sat looking wistfully at both the remaining unmended pieces of his vase and Hermione's pleased face.

"There you go, Ron," she muttered as she buried herself back in the book she held in her hands, where she turned the page and studied a diagram that showed mending thousands of shredded fragments of a piece of parchment.

Harry was waving his wand over his apple, which was split into at least twenty minute pieces, and saying half-heartedly, "_Repraro—_er, I mean, _Reprimoro_—oh, damn—" For half of his pieces of apple had gone flying at the window at such speed that it made holes. They disappeared through the air, and Hermione turned to Harry and grinned.

"Spectacular!" she said excitedly, leaping from her chair, pointing her wand at the holes in the glass, and saying, "_Reparo!_" Instantly, all the fragments of glass flew back together to make one solid, undented pane. Flitwick turned to Hermione after helping Seamus repair his shattered goblet and clapped his hands together, surveying his student with wide eyes.

"Excellent!" he said. "I haven't even _taught _you lot that sort of thing yet—ten points to Gryffindor, yes!"

Hermione sat down, apparently trying not to look smug, and looked at Ron. "Shut up," he said, breaking his vase pieces even further as he smacked them with his wand. Harry was quite unaware of anything that was happening; he continued waving his wand above the few pieces of apple he had left and muttering the incantation. His mind was on the conversation he'd shared with Cedric the night before, and the vision of merpeople swimming around him, dangling a picture of his parents and laughing madly at him as he struggled to paddle towards them. He wondered what exactly Cedric would miss most and saw, as clear as if it was right before his eyes, Cho dangling over a mermaid's shoulder while Cedric sword-fought it. Maybe Cho was the thing _he _missed most…. But that couldn't be, he hardly knew her, thought it was not for lack of trying. Cedric had merely got there first. He knew the thought should've brought him bitter emotions, but it didn't.

"_Reparo—_oh, look, I did it!" Ron cried happily as his vase flew back together. Hermione looked at him approvingly and then turned to Harry.

"Need some help?" she asked. Harry, unaware of what he was agreeing to, nodded his head. She started to show him the correct wand movement required for the Mending Spell when the bell rang, and she hurriedly gathered up her bags and said, "Oh, good, lunch," and dashed out of the door. Ron followed when Harry had pocketed his wand and walked out of the door behind her.

After lunch, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures, in which Dean Thomas received a severe bite from a Blast-Ended Skrewt and had to have his skin relayered by a deprecating Madam Pomfrey, Harry returned to the common room alone (Ron and Hermione had retreated to the library to look up a report on Transfiguring lamps written by a nineteenth-century warlock). His mind was buzzing about the events of the night before, and he wondered when he could talk to Cedric again, mainly to see if he'd remembered the magic that could help the both of them in the second task, but also to see how he was doing. He felt inexplicably fond of the seventh-year Hufflepuff, who had always been a very nice person but the object of recent envy and rancor as of late. After all, the majority of people supported Cedric Diggory for the Triwizard Tournament… he was fantastic at Quidditch… he had the affection of Cho…. He should've hated him, and he felt he might have before conversing with him in the prefects' bathroom last night, but now he didn't. Who knew—maybe Cedric and Harry could be friends after all.

After throwing a scrap of parchment into the fire, on which he'd been doodling a skrewt tied up by a fireproof net, Harry put his school bag up in the fourth-year dormitory and exited the common room, which was already starting to fill up with Gryffindors happily chatting to one another about their day. He thought maybe he'd use the rest of the day to find Cedric and make arrangements for a time to talk—perhaps in the library, or somewhere without a lot of noise—and ended up running into Fred and George Weasley, who tailed him, asking where Ron was.

"Er—I don't know, the library, I think—" he said, wishing he would've checked the Marauder's Map for Cedric's current location. Apparently, the Weasley twins were eager to find Ron and determine whether their new-and-improved Canary Creams actually worked on humans. Harry, eager not only to find Cedric but to escape being asked to be a test subject himself, doubled back Gryffindor Tower insisting that he'd forgotten a book. Truthfully, he did return, but didn't acquire a book; he checked the Marauder's Map, which showed Cedric Diggory sitting by the lake, alone. His heart pounding unexplainably, he rushed out of the common room, down the marble steps to the entrance hall, out of the oak doors and to Hogwarts' sprawling grounds.

He found him just where the Marauder's Map had said he was. Harry casually ambled toward the Hufflepuff Seeker and sat down, alerting Cedric to his presence. "Hey," he said, and Cedric smiled.

"Hi, Harry," he replied. "I've been meaning to talk to you about last night."

"Me, too," Harry said. His heart beat faster.

"I was thinking maybe, you know, if you want to, we could meet again there. To talk." He paused. "You know, about anything. We're friends now, right? We should get to know each other."

Harry nodded in agreement, thinking of his Invisibility Cloak, which was currently tucked under his clothes in the trunk at the end of his bed. He made a mental note to place it under his pillow right before he went to bed; he wouldn't want to wake everyone up getting it from his trunk, whose hinges squealed in protest every time he opened it. "Sure, that'd be great!" he agreed.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Cedric mentioned Quidditch. They got into a conversation about the World Cup the previous summer, which they'd both attended (and even shared the same Portkey), and reminisced happily about the fluid movements of the Irish Chasers and both the flying ability of Viktor Krum and his surprising presence at Hogwarts this year. Harry was happy to see that it was very easy to talk to Cedric, who seemed to know and love Quidditch just as much as he did, and found that they had other things in common, too; they both, for starters, were very popular and didn't want to be. Cedric confided in Harry about all of the things that people expected from him, and Harry quite agreed; everyone expected the same from him, as he had managed to vanquish Lord Voldemort before he was old enough to walk. The truth was, he wasn't any better at magic than Neville Longbottom (well, perhaps that was a bit of an underestimation), and he found that the only thing he was really exceptional at was the position of Seeker at Quidditch. Nothing more, really.

They talked all afternoon under the shade of a large, lofty willow tree, and Harry had quite forgotten about dinner until his stomach rumbled uncomfortably at sunset. Cedric, noticing this, grinned and said, "I'm hungry, too," and got to his feet. Harry mimicked this and they talked happily all the way back to the castle, where they separated in the Great Hall to go to different tables. Ron and Hermione had evidently seen Harry come in with Cedric, talking; Ron looked suspicious, and Hermione looked approving. After all, she _did _say that the tournament was all for the promotion of cooperation among wizards…

"What's with that, mate?" Ron demanded as Harry set down and pulled every bit of food within a two feet radius to him. "Talking with Diggory?"

"It was only for a second, we met in the halls on the way to dinner and we were talking about the second task," Harry said, the last part truthful; they _had_ been discussing the difficulty of the event which was to take place in February as they walked back up to the castle. They _hadn't_, however, merely met in the halls. Harry still didn't want to tell them about meeting him in the prefects' bathroom the night before, although he didn't know why.

"So then where were you after Hagrid's?" Ron said, bouncing back immediately. "Me and Hermione were only in the library for about thirty minutes, and we couldn't find you after that—"

To Harry's astonishment, before he was able to scramble to think of an excuse to pacify Ron, Hermione cut in. "Didn't you hear?" she said, determinedly not looking at them and studying a platter of salmon interestedly. "Harry said he was going to Hagrid's for the afternoon to help with Friday's lesson, in Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon. Weren't you listening?"

Ron gaped at her, as if this was a very stupid question. "Of course I wasn't listening—the skrewt me and Dean were sharing nearly killed me, it only just missed me and got him instead—I didn't have time to listen to anyone!" He didn't pursue the subject, obviously revisiting the abominable lesson several hours prior to dinner, and Harry looked at Hermione appraisingly.

"Thanks," he mouthed, and she looked at him as if she knew exactly what was going on—which was not unusual, for Hermione possessed not only book-smarts but the uncanny ability to consciously know what was going on around her, even if it wasn't said. Ron grumpily munched on roast beef and seemed to be looking in the general direction of a candle floating in mid-air above them, which it seemed Draco Malfoy was bewitching to tip over and spill its melted wax onto Neville's plate of pork chops.

Later that night, as they all trumped up to the Gryffindor common room and sat in a corner studying Mending Spells, Ron made to pick up the subject of Cedric Diggory again. Harry groaned, but for the second time Hermione put her foot down and this time distracted Ron in a less conspicuous way; she told him about her rather boring Arithmancy lesson that afternoon, which she always claimed was better than Divination. Ron apparently forgot Cedric in favor of Hermione's plight, which he proceeded to poke fun at, and Harry's mind wandered back to his conversation with the seventh-year earlier in the day, which had lasted hours until the sun began to set, signaling dinner. He found it was very easy to talk to Cedric, which was a relief; he thought every time he saw Cho his tongue became quickly incapable of use, which was no help on his part. His stomach was still feeling pleasantly expanded when he said goodnight to Hermione and ascended the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory with Ron at his heels, expressing his opinion that Mending Spells were almost not worth it.

At one o'clock that night he crept out of bed again, just like the previous night, and made his way to the prefects' bathroom, where Cedric was waiting. This time, Cedric sat fully-clothed and dry as Harry experienced the wonder of the prefects' bath, experimenting with the taps and happily talking about anything that came to mind.

When he went to bed that night, Harry had a dream involving buying Cedric Chocolate Frogs, but when he woke up the next morning, the only thing he recalled was walking into Honeydukes with Cedric, which he decided not to mention to Ron or Hermione.

**TBC**

_DM, Signing Off:_

Ah, second chapter. Things are, obviously, beginning to heat up; this is however only just the beginning (!!) and there's gotta be more sexual tension that you can cut with a knife, otherwise this just wouldn't be a proper story. Reviews are much appreciated, as well as links to anyone else on this earth that is on board the Harry/Cedric ship and writes; I already know 'bout Aspen, who writes stories such as Bittersweet and Close Kept, because those are favorites of mine. Anyway.... Signing off now. Chapter three very soon!

And on we go to part three! **Dusk Magnum**


	3. Part 3: Hermione's Deduction

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Badger and Lion

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Author: Dusk Magnum

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Created: July 8, 2004

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Date Written: July 12, 2004

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Rating: R

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Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because Harry needs a significant other (which is where our humble Hufflepuff comes into play), but seeing as I don't, I'd rather like to make this clear. Jo owns the story and all the characters, not me, darn it, so leave me alone already!

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Notes: Italics denote thought; also certain spells, charms, and potions listed in this fanfic will probably not have been learned by Harry in the original _Goblet of Fire_, but he's been able to do spells that we've never seen him learn, so he had to learn them sometime, right? These spells are, for the record, NOT MADE UP (except perhaps for the potions—I like to get inventive sometimes). They are all the result of Jo's work, and from reading and rereading the first five novels over and over. Check if you like.

Part 3: Hermione's Deduction

"So, what are you planning on doing with Cedric?" 

Harry jumped out of a dreamy reverie involving bashing Snape in the head with a cauldron and looked up at Hermione, who had obviously just asked him something (a good something, by the smug look on her face). They were in Potions on a cheery Friday morning, all learning how to make a Babbling Beverage. The image of Snape holding his hands out in front of his face and beggin for mercy quickly dissipated as he said, "Pardon?"

"Cedric. Cedric Diggory." Harry's heart gave a violent throb. "I know you were talking to him last night, right before dinner; you came in looking quite happy, and we hadn't been able to find you all day." 

Harry didn't answer. Hermione looked both complacent in being right again and understanding at the same time. Harry finally hissed "Shh!" when he remembered that Ron was on the other side of Hermione, but it was no use: He was now feverishly stirring the contents of his cauldron, which had, instead of dissolving into the boiling, gluey-liquid, had clumped up together. He was murmuring things to himself, occasionally snapping his head back up to the board, where instructions were written, and double-checking his supply of ingredients.

"What makes you think just because I talked to him once I'm going to plan on doing something with him?" Harry finally said in a bare whisper, shooting glances at Ron. "I just talked to him about Quidditch and… you know, the Triwizard tournament and all that. We both have two very big things in common, you know. And it's a lot to talk about."

Hermione said, "Oh," unconvincedly and turned to her cauldron, which was issuing light-red, foggy vapor that drifted lazily above their heads. She turned the temperature of the flame down to a simmer and added a tangle of violent-green, thorned weeds, stirred counter-clockwise five times, and turned back to Harry. "I don't believe you," she said tactlessly. "What's up? Really, Harry. You're one of my very best friends, I think that merits an explanation."

Harry checked to see that Ron wasn't listening (which he apparently wasn't; his cauldron was now spewing out thick, poisonous-looking gas that didn't seem to want to leave the vicinity of his head) and inhaled deeply. "It's nothing really," he said. "It's just me and Cedric got to talking, and he's a lot cooler than you'd think. I mean, I know I used to hate him, because he's going out with Cho, but really he's not all that bad of a guy." He let the effects of these words sink in and wondered why he was so hesitant to tell everyone. _We're just friends, after all. _"He's a good Seeker; he gave me some tactics, and we talked about the first task and all the stuff we thought of doing to fight the dragon in the first place. He said something about hitting it with a spell that increased its weight, so that it would fall—"

Hermione, whom Harry was expecting to give out the name and proper effects of the spell he'd just mentioned, interrupted instead to say, "So you think he's pretty cool." She had a look of determined calmness and understanding on her face that Harry didn't like for some reason. "Are you going to hang out with him more?"

"I don't know, maybe," he said, when he meant in fact _Yes, of course, I'm going to hang out with him some more, are you mad?_ Then this thought—of being overexcited at the prospect of meeting Cedric again and talking to him—sickened him. Hermione seemed to notice when he wrinkled up his brow in concentration.

"Harry…" she said with a sigh. She looked behind her at Ron, who was stamping out the sleeves of his robes that had just caught on fire. "You know you can talk to me anytime you want. Especially if you don't want to talk to Ron about… erm, certain things."

This statement hit him hard. "Why wouldn't I want to talk to Ron about some things?"

"Just… Harry, if you really have no one else to talk to, and you need to get something off of your chest, I'm here. And I want you to know that before you go telling it to other people—"

"Telling _what _to other people?" he said heatedly, ignoring his boiling Babbling Beverage, which was orange and was supposed to be the light yellow color of Hermione's.

She looked nervous. "Nothing. If you need to talk, that's all I'm saying."

"Yeah, well, thanks," he said, rather more roughly than he intended to put it. _What is she talking about? Why are girls so hard to understand? 'Going about telling _it _to other people'—what the heck is she talking about? _His heart gave a series of harder pulsations and he turned his attention back to his potion, trying to rectify whatever mistake he'd made. But his thoughts were not on bashing Snape with a cauldron, nor Hermione's strange, furtive attitude, but Cedric, and how much he'd enjoyed talking to him.

Potions ended, also putting a stop to his thoughts. He got up, swung the strap of his bag over his arm, and hurried out of class before Hermione could follow. In the back of the classroom, Snape was accusing Ron of trying to melt the cauldron on purpose. Ron was looking dumbfounded, and didn't have time to follow Harry as Snape performed a Vanishing Spell on his potion and began lecturing him on the proper methods of potion-making ("One, Weasley, as hard as this may be for you, you must _pay attention_!").

He decided to go back to the common room for break and lay down. It was only a half-hour, and he didn't particularly want to see Hermione or discuss anything with Ron, so he led himself to the secluded fourth-years' dormitory and shut himself inside, laying exhaustedly on his four-poster bed. For a few seconds, he merely stared out the window at the Whomping Willow, which could be clearly seen from his vantage point. But then he leapt up, unlocked his trunk, found the Marauder's Map, and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" on a sudden whim. He watched as a dot labeled _Hermione Granger _made its way down the grounds of Hogwarts before stopping at the willow tree in which Cedric and Harry had talked at. Then—with a jolt—Harry saw another dot labeled _Cedric Diggory _sitting at the exact spot that Hermione now was. Was Hermione going to reveal to Ron that Cedric and Harry had been talking all afternoon the day before? Was she going to accost the second Hogwarts champion and question him about their topics of conversation? _Not that it's anything to worry about. All Cedric and me talked about was Quidditch and the second task, the normal. But we did talk about other stuff, too…_

Harry found himself on his feet suddenly, without knowing how he had gotten in that position, and was walking fast now to the door. He passed Seamus and Dean on the way, who were apparently going back to retrieve a report on Crippling Chrysanthemums for Herbology; they greeted him as he passed, but were too nervous to talk, as was he. Harry found himself glad to be leaving Gryffindor Tower now, but was worried about what would happen when he got down to the willow tree he and Cedric had talked under. What were they talking about anyway? Hermione didn't know Cedric at all; what would they have to talk about?

But when he got down to the grounds, panting slightly and his heart thumping madly, he found Cedric sitting alone. He looked like he was thinking hard; he was staring at the iron-gray lake, rippling softly in the breeze, and not moving a muscle. Harry didn't care where his friend had gone now. He started towards Cedric but heard something directly in front of him—footsteps maybe—but discarded the idea, seeing at his paranoia at being discovered talking in-depth with a person who was supposed to be his rival. When he walked right in front of him, there was nothing there, and whatever he'd heard had now vanished. Harry sat down next to Cedric with a hesitant smile.

Cedric looked up. "Oh, Harry!" he said, grinning amiably. Harry's smile widened. "You're here again."

"You, too," he said slowly, at a loss for anything else to say. He was so sure that Hermione was down here and was talking to Cedric about something that he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Well, so what's up?" Cedric finally said. Harry wondered about telling him that about Hermione's strange reaction to his telling her about conversations with Cedric, but didn't.

"Potions," he said. "Which is never fun."

Cedric agreed and the two dove into a discussion about how much they hated Snape—Cedric told him about an incident involving a Wit-Sharpening Potion and an accidental double-dose of dendrick root that caused unprecedented mayhem. They talked for the entire break so that when the bell rang Harry found that he wasn't the only one who needed to get to class and had none of his stuff. He and Cedric said quick goodbyes and exchanged smiles and then ran towards the castle; Cedric to the greenhouses, and Harry back up the stone steps to the large oak front doors. He needed to get back to Gryffindor Tower. He looked at the map as he went, when he was out of the scope of prying eyes, and noticed that the dot _Hermione Granger_ was now standing at the top of the marble staircase. He looked up and, confused, saw that no one was standing there at all. Then something clunked into place like someone had oiled the cogs in his brain.

"HERMIONE!" he yelled, running up the stairs; several Slytherins passing him did mocking impressions and yelled "Hermione!" in tiny, annoying voices. He looked at the map to see that the dot was now running down the corridor. He followed closely, and found he wouldn't be surprised if smoke was coming out of his nostrils now. It all made sense—why Hermione hadn't been there at the willow tree when he'd arrived, why he'd heard those footsteps.

Finally he caught up with the dot and reached his hand out. It groped a silvery, smooth cloak and he pulled it off when they had turned the corner, stuffing it into his bag and looking angrily at the now-visible Hermione. She looked devastated. "Harry!" she said. "I didn't—well, you know I didn't mean anything by—"

"Where did you get my cloak?" he said, cutting her off, his eyebrows raised as he advanced towards his friend.

"I don't—oh, Harry, I went to get it myself," she spluttered, looking fearful.

"No you didn't!" he said. Hermione was very, very unlikely to break the bonds of his respect and privacy. "You didn't, either! You got someone to do it for you—maybe you convinced Neville or Seamus or—RON! He's the only one who really knows about my cloak, doesn't he? He's the only one who knows exactly where I put it in my trunk!"

Hermione was cowering in fear now as Harry came within a half a foot's distance from her. "I just wanted to figure out why you've been so secretive lately," she said weakly, but her voice became stronger and more confident as she spoke. "Since Wednesday you've been zoning out and smiling like you're under a spell or something, you looked rather like you were Winky drinking too many butterbeers, if you ask me—"

"Well, I _didn't _ask you, did I?" Harry retorted angrily. "So you really were at the willow tree, watching me and Cedric talk? Well, I hope it was worth betraying my trust, because man, the subject of how much we hate Snape must be _REALLY_ illuminating, I suppose you have all the information you need to graduate from school now!" But she looked at him with apparently all the strength and courage she could muster and said, "I know, Harry." Harry stopped dead in his tracks, not moving. Not one inch. His breathing pace became tense and harried as he stared at her, lost for words.

"You know? You know WHAT?" he said, and a passing group of Ravenclaw first years jumped.

"I think _you _know what I know," she said calmly, never taking her eyes off of his green ones. His heart was thumping so hard it hurt as he backed away.

"No, obviously not, or I wouldn't have asked," he said, trying to sound rude and in her face but ending up sounding like he'd just recovered from laryngitis. She didn't wince, not once, but stared back at him with both pity and bewilderment in her eyes.

"You _have _to know," she said, sounding confused. "I mean, it's you, isn't it? You're the one who's—who's—well, the one who's… gay."

It was like his brain, which had one minute been itching with anger and racking his brain for witty insults and more questions to ask her, had suddenly frozen. It felt cool, detached, and unusual. But most of all, he felt that he knew what Hermione was talking about. His head flew back to the thought of Cedric in the pool, and his sudden, inexplicable urge to get in with him (though he thought that was just because it had looked so wonderfully warm and soothing). He also remembered his overexcitement at the prospect of talking to the Hufflepuff seventh-year again. The gears of his brain seemed to grate suddenly, throwing his mind into stark disbelief, but then a flood of concrete understanding passed over him, nauseating, unbearable. He continued to stare at Hermione, mouth open, completely silent for the second time that day.

"Gay?" he whispered, his throat constricted. _I can't be gay. I like Cho, for crying out loud! I can't be gay! It's impossible!_

"I know, Harry, I know what it must feel like," she said. Harry backed up, his mouth closing and shutting like a fish over and over again, his brain stagnant and yet so alive with crackling energy, trying to work out this startling revelation. Hermione looked very, very sad. "But please, you have to understand that you needed to know. And I needed to know!" 

"Why did you need to know?" said Harry, his mouth dry and his heart pumping twice as fast as it ever was around Cedric.

"It's as I said," she told him matter-of-factly, "you needed to know. The only way you could know if someone else told you. Trust me. I've dealt with this kind of thing before."

"You're not—?"

"No, of course I'm not," she said quickly, and this made Harry feel worse. No one could be forced to compare with him now. _Am I really… it's just impossible to believe that I'm gay… When did this happen? Where was I? _"But I've helped people that have been in this position. I know what it's like. And you'll never believe it until somebody else tells you. Preferably a friend."

"This is—it's crazy—"

"I know it's crazy, but just listen to me. Don't tell Ron, okay? I know Ron. You know Ron. You may be his best friend, but look how he reacted the night your name came out of the Goblet! Just don't tell him about this, okay?"

He merely stared. She looked sympathetically at him and said, "C'mon, I can afford to skip Arithmancy for one day." This in itself was an astonishing sentiment, and a mark of the loyalty she had for him. Harry, still gaping at her open-mouthed, followed her back to Gryffindor Tower, listening to her questions and only barely aware of what was going on.

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This can't be happening.

TBC __

DM, Signing Off:

Ah. Such startling revelations, no? Been there, done that, except I'm bi, so it's slightly different in Harry's position. Yeah, anyway… Hope for feedback of this newest chapter. Be critical if necessary! A first time fanfic writer such as myself needs these helpful hints. And also, what Hermione says isn't always true—I just had to have her find out in the strangest, most unbelievable way I could've conceived. Okay, I could've made it stranger, but oh well! 

And just for the record, Harry, it IS happening… **Dusk Magnum**


	4. Part 4: It's About Acceptance

Badger and Lion  
  
_Author: _Dusk Magnum  
_Created: _July 8, 2004  
_Date Written: _July 20, 2004  
_Rating: _R  
_Disclaimer: _I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because the franchise would make me a multi-billionaire and forever remembered as the person who led millions of children to read, but I'm not. So I suppose there's no use in crying over spilled potion now, eh?  
_Notes: Italics_ denote thought; **Bold** obviously denotes emphasis, in case you don't know because you were holed up in Elvis's apartment for the past few decades. Oh, and sorry for not updating. I have had zero time to write for a while. Ooh, and also thanks for all of you guys that have reviewed (four, is it? Yes, I think that's right) and go read Ravine-Limit's stories if you get the chance. He's a H/C shipper too; yes, there's actually someone else!

Part 4: It's About Acceptance

The next day was absolutely grueling for Harry. He spent half of his time laying in his four-poster with the curtains drawn tightly around it, trying to convince himself that Hermione was a fool, that she knew nothing about anything and was better off ignored. But, as usual, Hermione was right, and he knew it: The time came now that he would just have to accept it. And yet he couldn't. How could anyone ever accept that? The raw, sinful feelings that you weren't supposed to have… the incompletion, the impurity, chafing at his conscience always, never ceasing and never slowing the pace. All day the thought chiseled at his already fragile brain, judging him; the voice spoke clearly and sounded so much like Draco Malfoy that Harry could've sworn he was standing right next to him, hissing reprimands in his ear. It was more horrible than he'd ever dealt with, yet at the same time, it was a wonderful, liberating revelation. And it was always one he'd never forget.

Finally, at half past seven, Harry unlodged himself from the convoluted tangle of his blankets and sheets and made his way out of Gryffindor Tower, feeling simultaneously terrified, relieved, and confused. He made very sure to ignore a tall, red-headed figure by the fire, as well as the jungle of brown hair beside him, though he could feel the stares. He could feel them, and he absolutely couldn't take it. He was torn between roaming around the library, between the towering shelves, and inhaling the musty smell of books; or perhaps walking down to the willow tree so near the lake, where he thought he might find the other Hogwarts champion. _No, _rebuked the Malfoy voice in its most jeering tone. _You remember what Hermione said. You know that you can't talk to Cedric anymore, because what will happen then? Would you like to know what happens when you get closer to a boy like that? _It was absolutely true, of course. Harry had learned, in that startling moment of clarity that he'd had just the day before, that he harbored certain unseemly emotions for another person—a boy, no less—and that it must be stopped at once. He knew that Hermione knew about it; when she had interrogated him in Potions the day before, the look in her eye, her choice of words, her tone of voice… she had known.

Would he perhaps ignore Cedric altogether? That was a thought. He'd be much better off, oh yes, and maybe even he'd begin to compromise with himself. Make a pact to pacify the screaming, insecure fourteen-year-old boy hidden under the scar and the raven hair and the pale skin. He would ignore Hermione, of course. He hated the way she looked at him. It was like she pitied him, but it was more of a judgmental pity, it was the look in her eyes that said it all. Harry couldn't accept it. He wondered vaguely as he made his way down the marble staircase if Ron knew, and found that he didn't really care, because he wasn't really gay. Right? No. Harry was normal, as normal as a person could be under the circumstances—what with the curse scar that twinged painfully when his arch nemesis was near, and his somber appearance that so mirrored his late parents—and nobody would think otherwise. He would make sure of that.

The weekend passed and he stayed holed up in different parts of the castle; the owlery, the library, an empty classroom or two. Every time he thought he saw Cedric in the halls he quickly turned around and made for the nearest escape; he would not let Cedric notice him. And every time he thought of ignoring Cedric, of treating him in this manner, his stomach gave a guilty squirm, but he didn't care. It was best to stop the problem at its source, and if so, the seventh-year Hufflepuff was indeed somewhere around the roots.

Monday started and Harry noticed with alarm that the second task was drawing uncomfortably near. When he didn't find his thoughts straying to the lake, he was wondering if he should talk with Hermione again—but no, that was preposterous. He wasn't ready to talk to her quite yet. He wasn't ready to talk to Ron, either, though he wasn't sure why. It was almost as if he were afraid…. Yes, he supposed he was afraid. Afraid of what Ron might say if they got to talking. Afraid that Hermione had confided in her other best friend about the secret she knew. _What secret? I've got no secret. Harry Potter has no secret. I'm an open book, for Merlin's sake! No secrets here, no sir, that's not allowed. _But he still stayed away from Ron.

Tuesday dawned and Harry had to stare determinedly in the other direction; he could feel Cedric's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He wished with every fiber of his being that the man would not come up to the Gryffindor table, hoping for more conversation, or maybe an explanation of his strange behavior. He prayed to whatever gods were listening, prayed so hard that he didn't even notice Hermione sit down next to him and shovel bacon onto his plate, looking at him intently. Harry yelped when he finally discovered his best friend was there.

"We need to talk," she said, drifting a spoon absentmindedly through her bowl of porridge.

"Do we?" Harry said, playing dumb. _I've got no secrets—I'm an open book, remember? Read me. No secrets here. _"What about?"

Hermione looked half exasperated and half sympathetic. She lifted her spoon, now filled with the colorless sludge in her bowl, and seemed about to take a bite of her breakfast when she said quite abruptly, "I haven't told Ron, you know. It'll be our little secret." _Secret? I've got no secret. Ask somebody else, you've got the wrong person. _"I think I could help you. If you only let me try, that is. I know you've been avoiding me, ever since Friday, me **and **Ron. But I can help you, Harry, I really can." Harry said nothing, but stared at the pieces of crispy bacon Hermione had placed upon his silver plate. _I've got no secret. Nothing to tell, I'm Harry Potter, everyone already knows everything about me, anyway. _Hermione took a breath and looked nervously at Ron, who had just appeared in the doorframe from the entrance hall and was looking tired. "We'll talk later, okay? At break or something. We'll take a walk and… and talk things over, okay?"

Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure why. _No secrets. Nothing to talk about._

Cedric's eyes, his stormy-gray, fathomless, entrancing eyes were staring at him. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't let him be. _Please don't look at me anymore. I've got no secret, can't you tell? I've been trying to convince you. You won't find secrets here, okay?_

All through Divination and History of Magic Harry's mind was on Cedric. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of anything else. If he **did **think about something else, what would it be? Hermione and her words of comfort, her words of pity? The imagined look on Ron's face when he found out? _Found out what? I've got no secret. Why won't you listen to me? _Please _listen to me._ So he focused on Cedric. Tall. Muscular. Handsome. Silent. Smart. Cute. Kind. Caring. Hot. Compassionate. Hot. Attractive. Unrejectable. _No!_

Let's focus on something else for a while. Crystal ball predictions? _No, that's just rubbish. _Manticore executions of the sixteenth century? _No, I've got Hermione for that. Hermione… _His thoughts returned to her and he remembered assuring her that he'd meet up with her at break. But no—he didn't assure her. He'd nodded his head. It was a completely different vibe. He could walk away, he could run back up to Gryffindor Tower and scream into his pillow, maybe drown himself in a bathtub, perhaps the prefects' bathtub, that's where he and Cedric had talked—_No! Not him. Let's think about something else. Like lunch. I'm hungry. Aren't I?_

The bell rang. Professor Binns passed boredly through a desk to get a better view of the sky outside his window. Harry and Hermione hurried past Ron and out of sight before he could object and ran to the grounds, where other students were chatting amiably. Harry's heart was thumping as he passed the lakeside willow tree. It was thumping so hard it hurt. 

"Hermione?" he said when they had stopped, leaning up against a wall to catch their breath.

"Mm?"

"Do you think anyone would notice if I just sort of—er—dropped out of school?"

"No, it would go completely unnoticed, because you're just an average student, nobody knows you." She paused to laugh quietly.

Harry didn't know what to say. Would he accept it? Would he finally tell Hermione about the things he'd been holding back? Could he? Would his brain let him, would the Malfoy voice allow him to do it? If he said it… that would make it irretrievable, final, absolute. He wasn't sure if he could deal with that quite yet.

"I think we really do need to talk," he said quietly. _I do have a secret. I DO. Oh, God, oh merciful heavens, I have a secret._

Hermione looked at him, and Harry noticed something he'd never quite discovered before burning away in her eyes (they were like lamps—beacons, they could signal ships at sea, God, were they ever bright); he couldn't place it, but it was genuine emotion, and he knew in an instant that Hermione felt for him like she'd never felt for anyone else. She understood the position he was in—how, he wasn't sure—but she could help him through this. She could make people understand. She could be his friend, quite possibly his only friend after Hogwarts found out what he was… Hogwarts, and Cedric. God, would Cedric even look at him after he told everyone? Would he still like talking to Harry then? 

Before he knew it, Harry was spilling his deepest worries, tugging up his most painful, confusing, scarring emotions from a well deep inside of his heart, tears streaming down his face. He told Hermione about everything he'd felt and thought since the day she'd told him about his secret. _I have a secret. I have a secret. _He told her about trying to sift through these unwanted, alien feelings, trying to make sense of something in a world completely awry. And she nodded. She nodded and smiled. She inserted comments in every once in a while, smiling, her eyes blazing with compassion and friendship and love. She knew Harry better than even he was aware of, and he finally knew that now. That smile… it was so encouraging, so amazingly beautiful that he could cry—she didn't hate him, didn't want to judge him by the sins of homosexuality, she wanted to help him get through it, to accept it.

"Because, Harry," she said, still smiling that encouraging, elating smile, "in the end, it's all about acceptance."

He went to bed that night and he dreamed. He dreamed of Cedric. And when he woke up… he smiled. And he knew everything was going to be okay.

TBC 

DM, Signing Off:

Wow, that's certainly a doozy of a chapter. Very moving, I thought; much deeper than I intended it to be, but it worked out. Right? I guess I should ask my reviewers first. Oh, and speaking of first, first things first: Thank you for reviewing, people! It's made my day. Ravine-Limit, you've been a big help, I love your story (only a 3-6 more chapters to go? Say it isn't so!) and you HAVE to write more Harry/Cedric or I might have to kill you. Astherosewilts (right pen name? This is only by memory), thank you also for reviews, and the anonymous ones (MYSTERIE and Anonymous—is that right?). I appreciate reviews so much. But I'm greedy. God help me, I'm a review whore. So you know what that means? Er… REVIEW. That will always get you on the right path with me. And sorry for not updating for a while (see Notes above) because I've had no time to write, but I shall make up for it, people! Thank you, and tell me what you think about this chapter. Too deep? Too heavy on the emotion? I feel it's a particularly pressing, weighing thing to accept homosexuality (believe me, I completely know), and I had to reflect that in Harry: the consideration that it might be true, then the flat-out denial, then the acceptance, usually with the help of somebody you know. Hermione is always going to be the more sensitive one, right? Oh, and just you wait until Ron finds out. JUST YOU WAIT. Hint: It's going to be a redux of the night Harry's name came out of the goblet…. But more offensive. Okay, that was too big of a hint. But there you go.

Onto part five (and if anyone knows Hermione's eye color, please share)! **Dusk Magnum**


	5. Part 5: Practice Makes Perfect

Badger and Lion

Author: Dusk Magnum  
_Created: _July 8, 2004  
_Date Written: _July 22, 2004  
_Rating: _R  
_Disclaimer: _I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because the franchise would make me a multi-billionaire and forever remembered as the person who led millions of children to read, but I'm not. So I suppose there's no use in crying over spilled potion now, eh?  
_Notes: Italics _denote thought, yadda yadda yadda…. You know the drill.

Part 5: Practice Makes Perfect

Harry knew all too well the feeling that the clocks had been bewitched to run at double speed, and it showed now; here he was, just days from the second task, and he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. Occasionally in Charms, no doubt because Harry had so effectively used the Summoning Charm in the first task, Professor Flitwick would allow him to sit in the back of the class and read through several books that he would recommend. Though Harry found several passages on water, they dictated its most common uses in potion making and instances in which witches and wizards from the past used it to aid them. He thought maybe he ought to dry to turn the water into air, but as Hermione pointed out, they weren't even sure a trained witch or wizard of age could perform such a thing.

So one morning, four days before the second task, Harry sat in the back of Charms and pored through a thick volume in his hands, having already scoured the pages of three other equally heavy books and found nothing. Hermione and Ron were practicing basic Befuddlement Charms, which would temporarily disorientate the person who received it. Professor Flitwick insisted that it was much easier practicing these on smaller animals, as to use it on a human would take an enormous amount of practice, mental strength, and obviously, magic. Hermione watched her frog lazily hop around, sometimes managing to smack itself on the surface of the desk or twist its legs up mid-jump (she had successfully performed the charm the fourth time trying and since then her frog had been in an advanced state of confusion). Ron complained that Hermione was too good at everything and, shortly after, had an argument with her about how his frog was sort of confused ("It's NOT, Ron, look at it, it can still jump and everything—" "Yeah, but don't you think it looks a little cross-eyed?").

Harry was dutifully ignoring all of this. He couldn't waste time thinking about Befuddlement Charms when he was still without a clue as to how to survive underwater for an hour. Finally, an hour later, the bell rang and Harry waited for his friends to catch up at the door (Hermione's frog had somehow become entangled in her hair; Ron looked pleased), his mind still buzzing with questions and answers about water he'd read in Flitwick's many books. He thought he might try asking Snape for help, but no; he would sooner help Harry than give him full marks on a potion. Admittedly they were all abysmal, but partly because Harry could always feel the teacher's burning gaze when he wasn't looking, it was enough to make anyone nervous.

He thought for a moment whether he ought to ask Cedric, but he hadn't talked to him since the previous Thursday. He wasn't sure if Cedric even liked him anymore. This brought a whole new roster of frightening ideas and thoughts, but on being prodded by Hermione after lunch (Ron, who was shoveling food into his mouth faster than he could swallow it, was not paying attention) he caught up with Cedric in the halls. Miraculously, he was walking alone; this in itself was a cosmic event, as he normally had five or six people crowding around him like a band of bodyguards.

"Hey, Cedric!" said Harry tentatively when he had come within hearing rage of the seventeen-year-old. Cedric turned his head—his brown locks of hair, looking clean and fluffy, bounced in front of his face and he shook them away. He smiled, but looked as if he was hesitant to. Perhaps _he _was unsure whether Harry still liked him, and for all the attention he'd received, he had all the right to wonder.

"Harry! I haven't seen you all week, what's up?"

"Nothing," Harry quickly said, and didn't bother to invent a reason. There was no time. "I need to ask you about something. And—well, I know how this is going to sound, but I just really need help figuring out the second task, I've been so confused for days…." This, of course, was very true, but for a completely different reason. "I've been looking through all the books, and I still can't find anything." He paused, and he supposed that he looked very pathetic. "So… I sort of need help."

"You need help?" Cedric asked, looking puzzled. "But didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me… what?"

"I've found the way to do it, I even think another champion's using it," Cedric said, talking very fast, his stormy gray eyes alight with excitement. "It's called the Bubble-Head Charm, it's taught in seventh year, but I still think you can pull it off if you can do the Patronus—"

"You know about the Patronus?" he asked curiously.

"A little bit," he said, suddenly reddening. "When I saw you use it at that match last year—it was just amazing, I've never seen anything like it, by the way—I did a little research and… well…." He stopped at the door that led to his House's dormitories. "Well, anyways, I'd better go, but maybe tomorrow we can ditch a class or two and I'll teach you how to practice it—it's difficult, but I think with a bit of practice you'll be able to do it." He smiled, and Harry's insides seemed to inflate. "Yeah, well… I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you," Harry said, smiling himself.

He turned around, feeling better than he had in days; Cedric didn't hate him, in fact, he had sounded nervous himself. The rest of the day was much better with this newly found knowledge under his belt. It made Divination seem more interesting; Ron looked very surprised when Harry actually stopped listening to his joke to pay attention to Professor Trelawney. Care of Magical Creatures was even better: Pacifying the bloodthirsty skrewts had never seemed more fun or, for that matter, less dangerous. Ron was looking bewildered when Harry brought a skrewt over for him, Harry, and Hermione to share, unable to stop grinning and skipping every other step.

"You like having your arms ripped off, then?" Ron asked him. Hermione looked like she was about to laugh for the remainder of class but said nothing.

It was a wonderful feeling: By the time Care of Magical Creatures had ended and the skrewts were safely encased in large wooden crates ("Right where they belong," Ron muttered, clutching his forearm—he'd received a nasty burn from theirs), Harry felt like he was walking on air.

"What's got into you?" Ron asked, half-smiling and half-frowning, so that his mouth contorted in a strange way. "You've been hopping about all morning—"

"Wonder what's for dinner," Hermione said quickly, avoiding Ron's eyes as she cut him off.

"Something good, I'll bet," Harry said, feeling like he could win twenty Quidditch games in a row. Ron furrowed his eyebrows.

An hour later, Ron dashed up to Gryffindor Tower, regrettably mentioning that he'd failed to complete a punishment essay for Snape (his abysmal potion the previous week earned him a five-thousand-word essay on the correct ingredients, directions, and uses of a Babbling Beverage), leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

"Maybe you want to catch up with Cedric," Hermione said knowingly, after gulping down the last of her pumpkin juice. "You know… practice a bit, get ready for the second task."

"Yeah," said Harry, scanning the Hufflepuff table. "Yeah, think I'll do that now…." He managed to catch the eye of Cedric, who was just getting up from his seat at the very end of the table nearest the doors, and the two reached a silent agreement to meet in the entrance hall. Harry, feeling once again like his insides had been inflated, followed the gray-eyed Hufflepuff out of the Great Hall, while Hermione stayed behind, quizzing Neville on the ten steps to properly plant a Venomous Tentacula.

When Harry had reached the hall, he saw Cedric standing at the opposite end, facing the oak doors and occasionally looking towards the Great Hall. When he saw Harry, he smiled and beckoned him closer.

"I was hoping maybe you could teach me to… well, do that charm thing today," Harry said when he'd managed to stay still long enough to look at Cedric (he felt like bouncing). "The second task is only in four days, and I pretty much need all the help I can get."

"Okay," said the seventh-year, looking up the marble staircase. "D'you think we could get an empty classroom to do it in?"

"I don't know," said Harry pensively, "we could try, but we're not really allowed, so we'd have to ask a teach—"

"Oh, never mind that," Cedric said, "I just remembered—there's this spot where we can practice—I found it in my fifth year when I was looking for a shortcut to the prefects' bathroom, it's really cool, it's huge and I don't think anyone goes in there—" He pulled Harry up the stairs with an impatient "Come on!"

Soon the two of them were hurtling down the passages, skirting in and out of the way of students making their way from dinner, and had soon landed in front of a large, dusty door on the sixth floor, somewhere near the Astronomy Tower.

"It's cool, isn't it?" Cedric said. Harry couldn't respond—it was, well, just a door. Out of breath from the run, he allowed Cedric to push open the door and the two boys walked inside. Harry's jaw dropped open. They had just entered a spacious room full of dusty ornaments, bookcases, and artifacts; on the walls hung swords, coats of mail, and portraits of snoozing people in front of roaring fires. Bookcases were stacked with books of all size and shape, all extremely dusty, except for a select few which Harry gathered Cedric had been reading. Best of all, a large, steel chandelier adorned with candles hung from the ceiling, looking as if it had recently been polished. The room held only two windows: Both almost as tall as the ceiling and stained glass, so that strained light filtered into the room, adding a golden glow to everything it touched.

Cedric noticed Harry's expression and laughed. "It _is_ cool," Harry admitted, still eyeing the room. "We should probably dust this place down. Don't they have a spell for that?" he added musingly, remembering something Mrs. Weasley had mentioned at the Burrow last summer. "Some sort of household charm?"

"Probably," Cedric said nonchalantly, grasping his wand from the pocket of his robes. "But I don't know it. Here, I'll teach you the charm…" The next two hours, Harry spent his time in the company of Cedric, perfecting the wand movement, incantation, and performing of the Bubble-Head Charm. It was hard work: More often than not, the Hufflepuff had to correct his speech. One time, Harry had purposefully swung his wand in the wrong fashion so that Cedric could come over and maneuver his arm in the right way (his heart had leaped with excitement and apprehension at this). Harry remembered being told that a spell of this magnitude was difficult, but never before had he imagined how hard it really was. By the end of three hours, he'd made almost no progress, having only been able to say the spell correctly and could occasionally wave his wand in the right fashion. It was a complicated swishing movement, like drawing on a canvas, in the shape of what Harry thought was a spider's web; it was a wonder fully-trained wizards could achieve it.

Finally, a clock in Cedric's secret room chimed, and the two lowered their wands. "I promise, you'll learn this by the second task even if I have to strangle myself," Cedric assured. Harry laughed and the two met at the door—both grasped for the handle at the same time, and for a split second Cedric's long, tan fingers brushed up against Harry's—his heart nearly jumped right out of his throat.

"Sorry," they both said simultaneously, and each tried reaching for the handle again. Harry, though he didn't want to, withdrew his hand and allowed the older man to turn it and give way to the sixth-floor hall.

"I appreciate all the help," Harry said for the twentieth time.

"No problem, anything to help a fellow champion," Cedric said grinning. Harry's stomach squirmed.

"Well… see you."

"Yeah, bye!" And Harry walked away, his insides writhing with electricity, his heart pumping in overdrive. By the time he reached Gryffindor Tower, which was a long way considering his location but seemed like seconds, Hermione was waiting for him, standing just to the left of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"How was your… er… practice?" she said, smirking. Harry shook his head.

"Nothing happened," he said, but he couldn't stop himself from grinning. "We just… well, we really practiced. The Bubble-Head Charm is much harder than it looks."

"Of course, it's N.E.W.T. level, even _I'd_ be crazy to attempt it," Hermione said loftily, and mumbled the password distractedly to the Fat Lady ("ishcabibbles"). She led the way through the portrait hole and into the common room, which was surprisingly empty; Ron was in a corner poring over a long strip of parchment, evidently unaware that his best friends had just entered the room. "We'll talk later," she said, and hurried off to the girls' dormitory.

Ron turned his head, grinned, and said, "There you are. Working more on the second task, I expect?"

"Yeah," Harry said truthfully, leaving out Cedric completely. Ron was already suspicious—or he seemed to be, at least. "I think I can do it, really. Just a few more days of practice oughta do it."

"Practicing what?"

"The Bubble-Head Charm," he said, and quickly invented a story about finding it in an obscure volume in Professor Flitwick's private book collection. "Hermione says it's N.E.W.T. material, so of course it's hard, but I think I've got part of it down, at least—"

They talked for a while longer before the clock above the fireplace chimed nine and Harry, feeling suddenly weary, traipsed off to bed, where he found a sleeping Seamus and Dean (perhaps Neville had forgotten the password again). Harry stayed up, however, finding that he was unable to sleep, and relived the memory of the afternoon spent in Cedric's company in his secret room. Maybe he and Cedric would work to make it _their _room; it just needed a thorough dusting. Harry was quite fascinated with the room, but what was more important, he seemed to be making steps closer to being a real friend to Cedric, and maybe it would lead to more…. At midnight he heard the door open and Ron's unmistakable yawn. Pretending to have already fallen asleep, as Ron no doubt expected him to be, he snored softly in his most convincing tones. And with that, he fell asleep, his dreams holding a secret room rendezvous and discussions with Hermione (though less about Cedric than the art of making potions out of Fizzing Whizbees).

**TBC **

_DM, Signing Off: _

Yay! Another chapter. I'd like to personally thank Ravine-Limit, astheblackrosewilts, Nikkei, oncemorewithfeeling, Anonymous, and Mysterie. Very pleased with the reviews (12, but we're getting there, folks; gotta start somewhere!), most of which—no, all of which—are apparently pleased, so I must be doing something right. Much love, peeps! School is starting so soon it scares me, which means there will be less updates, but don't fret. I haven't and won't forget this story (I repeat: _I haven't and won't forget this story!!!!) _so expect chapters few and far between, but with more Harry/Cedric contact and a spectacularly unfair best friend estrangement (see Goblet of Fire—yes, the REAL one). There's your bit of spoilers, people. Ta!

If you don't like gray eyes, which are sexy, I might have to kill you. **Dusk Magnum**


	6. Part 6: Missed and Misunderstood

Badger and Lion  
_Author: _Dusk Magnum  
_Created: _July 8, 2004  
_Date Written: _July 27, 2004  
_Rating: _R  
_Disclaimer: _I don't own Harry Potter, obviously, or I wouldn't have to be on typing all of this up, would I? No, I would be in my castle-like home, updating my tantalizingly vague website and making sure the 'Do Not Disturb' sign stays put on that fricking door. So… yeah.  
_Notes: Italics _denote thought; also, I've decided to exclude the second task from the story, as everyone knows what happens anyway; Ron is the thing Harry will miss most, because since Cedric is also a champion and has to participate in the task as well…. Besides, (and unnecessary spoiler alert), Cedric will miss Harry the most, but it's the same thing. They both have to compete, right? Yeah. Plus, I'm changing around the events of _Goblet of Fire_ to include Harry being the first out of the lake with his hostage and then Cedric, then Krum, then Fleur. Enjoy!

Part 6: Missed and Misunderstood

Harry had been up since four on the morning of the second task, berating himself silently for not having enough gall to continue practicing the Bubble-Head Charm with Cedric. He'd been to two more practice dates (he wondered if he could even call them dates, casual or romantic intentions notwithstanding) with Cedric in the secret room on the sixth floor, but he'd been so distracted and worried he hadn't had time to learn. Eventually this had all pent up in his already over-crowded mind and had transformed itself into frustration. He stopped talking altogether with Cedric in the two days preceding February the twenty-fourth and had instead sought to holing himself up in a sequestered corner of the vast Hogwarts library, buried beneath endless piles of books. This all came back to the Goblet of Fire, he thought, in the hours he had spent in the library pondering his options; if his name hadn't suddenly sprouted out of the thing, none of this would've ever had to happen. In fact, maybe he would've allowed himself to envy Cedric from a distance. If he hadn't talked to him, maybe he wouldn't have liked him so much in the first place….

Not all of his time in the library was spent drilling through mountains of books for the second task, however. Harry would often retreat into the farthest reaches of his mind and spend time entertaining countless fantasies involving Cedric, or alternate courses in which he had never talked to Cedric, and henceforth had never found out he was gay. It bothered him more than he wanted to think, and this fused with the frustration already amassing in his brain like an unwanted tumor so that his head pounded with confusion and despondency.

The morning of the second task brought several things Harry would never forget; Dobby, his great ears flopping like a cartoon rabbit's, his tennis ball-sized eyes wide with fear and reverence as he stared at Harry, babbling on about Harry's 'Wheezy' and thrusting the gillyweed into his hands roughly. The feeling he found when he had swallowed the gillyweed, dizzy with the sudden absence of much-needed oxygen. What it was like to wander through the lake, silence pressing in on him like an invisibile, suffocating blanket. Finding Ron, Hermione, Fleur's silver-haired sister, and (worst of all) Cho. His heart caught in his throat as he saw her, drifting eerily in the water, her pretty face looking oddly illuminated by a nonexistent light.

There was just one explanation to whom she was to be rescued by. He knew it was stupid to think otherwise, and he knew he wished he'd never met Cedric before, but what if he was the one suspended by rope, floating eerily as much as his bonds would allow, lost in the bewitchment of sleep? Wouldn't it be nice to know that someone cared?

He remembered crashing to the surface of the lake to an explosion of sound—cheering, whooping, clapping, shouting, stamping—with Ron in his arms, who opened his eyes and burped loudly, looking around as if only mildly interested he'd just been rescued from a village of merpeople. He remembered watching Cedric emerge, Cho clutching his waist and looking around, confused but happy. He remembered the pang in his heart as she leaped up and gave her rescuer a kiss on the cheek, before squeezing his hand and departing to the waiting Madam Pomfrey. Krum broke the surface of the icy water, Hermione over his shoulder in a fireman's grip, and returned his shark-like visage to its former human resemblance. And finally came Fleur, her sopping wet silver hair intertwined with her sister's, who was looking perplexed. Harry and Cedric had been bestowed full marks; however, Harry had pulled through in the end in points, just barely scraping by ahead of the other Hogwarts champion.

Of course, as much as he didn't want to admit it, Harry _did_ like Cedric, and the fact that he would "sorely miss" Cho twittered across his brain for the following days as he drifted through lessons, only half-listening. Hermione, as per usual, seemed in sync with his every mood variation and would frequently ask him what was on his mind. Harry would try to ignore her, but confiding in Hermione was like removing poison from his veins; it was painful at first, but in the end it would always be a great relief.

One day, a week after the underwater escapades of the second task, Hermione caught up with Harry after lessons. Ron was swamped with an essay on Banishing Charms for Flitwick, and could be found somewhere in the library, muttering angrily to himself; this made Harry happiest, as he was finding it harder and harder to relate to his best friend.

"Wait up, Harry," Hermione said, her soft, feminine voice breaching the barriers of Harry's mind. As usual, he was thinking about Cedric, and wondering what would've happened if he had been under the water as his hostage (and if it could even have been done). "I need to talk to you."

Harry turned around, his emerald eyes focusing upon the bushy hair and brown eyes of his friend. "Yeah?" he said.

"I've been wanting to talk to you for a while," she said. "You've sort of… well, never been around. Locked up in the library where we couldn't find you—or up in your room sleeping—or with Cedric, wherever you two've—"

"Is there a point to this?" he interrupted, eyes flickering malevolently as they bored into Hermione's.

She looked as if she was trying her hardest not to retort; finally, she said, "Yes. Yes, there is. I wanna talk to you about Cedric."

"What for?"

"Because you're my very best friend and I know you need help."

"I'm fine, but thanks for the offer," he said, turning around and walking away. He could hear Hermione struggling to keep up with him as he briskly turned a corner and flew up a flight of stairs.

"Come back here!" she said. "We're not through!"

A group of passing Slytherin sixth-years looked in their direction, sneering; Hermione ignored them, but Harry felt a flush creep unconsciously up his neck. He walked past them without making eye contact and turned another corner, almost running in his haste to escape Hermione. Why did she have to bug him like this? He wasn't interested in anything she had to say. It would always be the same…. She wasn't a boy, she didn't know what it was like. For that matter, she wasn't a boy who also happened to like another boy in a way not generally accepted by people at large.

"What do you want?" he asked angrily, wheeling around when he felt her hand grasp his shoulder lightly.

"I'm trying to help you!" she said, her eyes blazing. "Now why don't you stop chewing me out and listen?"

"Because you don't know what I'm going through," he said, lowering his voice as the Slytherins passed, who were already performing wild imitations of Harry and Hermione's hallway fight. "You don't, you haven't, you won't, NEVER, okay? So why don't you let _me_ decide what's best for _me_, and _you_ can decide what's—"

"Go talk to him," she interrupted, not troubling to keep her voice down. Colin Creevey, who happened to be passing, looked over with mild interest. Harry chose to ignore her and started walking in the other direction. "Or maybe—well, here's a thought—you could go sulk by yourself for a change, because Merlin knows you've been the life of the party lately, a right social butterfly—"

"Shut up," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but Hermione caught it and stopped talking. Electricity seemed to crackle through the air around here, and her hair seemed bushier than before.

"You know, there are people who care about you, and your well-being, not just me and Ron," she informed him, her voice frighteningly akin to Professor Snape's when he was in his worst mood. "So why don't you go talk to them and straighten some things out? I'm sick and tired of having to deal with your attitude. You _know_ I'm only trying to help you, you KNOW it, but you just won't listen to a thing I say."

"Well, have you ever considered that for ONCE you're not the smartest person around?" Harry fired back, his temper rising to the boiling point as he advanced upon Hermione. "Maybe somebody knows a _little _bit more about a certain subject than you do. So maybe _you're_ the one _I'm_ sick and tired of, always having to deal with your know-it-all attitude, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

"Well, fine!" she screamed. The hall was quite suddenly more packed than usual, but Harry hardly noticed. "You've got no one else to turn to if you shut me out, but fine! You've got a REAL big ego sometimes, Harry, I'm not sure if anyone's ever told you. Why are you so painfully convinced that you have to do EVERYTHING on your own? Go ahead and walk away, go hide somewhere again, instead of doing what matters! Because maybe just because you can't handle the fact that you're—"

But Harry never heard what she said. His ears seemed to be rapidly filling with the buzzing of a million flies; he was seeing red, he could barely think he was so angry, and he grasped inside his robes for his wand. Hermione backed up, her face showing incredulity and fear. _How dare she scream out to the whole school about that? She _knows _that no one can ever know that. Damn it, she _knows_!_ He raised his wand without ever knowing he had—Hermione was now fumbling for her own wand—the lights suddenly extinguished, and a roaring replaced the buzzing of flies as Harry advanced towards the girl now backed against the wall, his wand emitting fountains of hot sparks—

And quite suddenly, he stopped. The people in the hall had scattered everywhere; Hermione, looking scared but infuriated, stopped grabbing for her wand, which had rolled a few feet away out of her grasp. And he lowered his wand, which clattered loudly on the floor, thinking, _My God, I nearly attacked my best friend,_ his head feeling suddenly quite empty and silent. "I'm sorry," he said, and promptly turned around and ran.

* * *

"You attacked her?" Cedric said in disbelief.

"Almost," Harry said glumly, never daring to glance at the champion's gray eyes, for he knew they would be filled with shock. "I _almost_… attacked her. But that was far enough."

He was sitting in the secret room on the sixth floor, where he knew he might find Cedric. He had decided to finally find him and talk to him, as Hermione had suggested in the first place, and although it made him feel slightly better, the weight of his prevented assault on her was heavier than anything he'd felt before. He didn't want to see Ron now, or never again—he would accuse him of being mad, he would reprimand him for trying to attack Hermione. He just wouldn't understand, and if Harry tried to tell him, he would become even angrier. Harry would be estranged by his only true friends. _And I'd deserve it,_ he thought sadly, remembering the fear in Hermione's eyes as he advanced towards her, his wand alight with red-hot sparks.

"Was a little fight like that enough to make you go off?" Cedric asked, still sounding astonished.

"It wasn't little, exactly," Harry corrected him, furrowing his eyebrows.

"What was it about?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You… erm, attacked your best friend because you were bored?"

"No!" Harry replied, feeling like the police were interrogating him—it wasn't a good feeling. "No, of course not, I _almost _attacked her for a reason! Something that's none of your business." He said this last sentence in tones more biting than he had meant; when he glanced up at Cedric, he had lowered his head.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to… to push."

"You didn't push," Harry said, feeling like he only half-wanted to apologize. His brain felt like it had dissolved in his skull. "I didn't mean—I'm just really angry and really upset, and I can't—I just—" He fumbled over the words, feeling increasingly frustrated. He slammed his fist on the side of a nearby bookcase, making three books slide off it onto the cold stone floor. "DAMN IT! I'm sorry, okay?"

There was silence for a long while. _Does he believe me? He has to understand I'm going through a lot lately. But he can't understand… He doesn't know…_ "I know," Cedric finally said, his eyes filled with solemn understanding.

There was another period of silence as Harry pondered what to say next, his gaze flitting from the prone form of Cedric a few feet away and the books he had unintentionally dropped from the bookcase. Every time he thought of moving to put them back, his mind held him completely still, forcibly applying memories of his outburst in the hall and the fear that had accumulated for weeks regarding his little secret. But here he was… in the same room with the object of his affection… and he didn't care. For the first time, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see Cedric again. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see _anyone _again. He wanted to lock himself up in a cage and scream until his lungs deflated, wanted to hit something until he bled.

"You would miss Cho," he said, his mouth moving more slowly than he intended, so the words came out slightly garbled.

Cedric didn't respond for a few seconds. He looked up at Harry, looking confused and almost ashamed, and said, "I would."

"You would miss her the most?"

"No."

"Who would you miss more than… her?" He couldn't force himself to say her name.

Cedric didn't reply. Harry slowly got up and left just as the glow of sunset filtered through the stained-glass windows.

**TBC **

_DM, Signing Off: _Ooh. That was an angster of a chapter, eh? Gawrsh, Harry needs a little anger management, methinks. Hope you enjoyed it—I've been having so much trouble finding time to write, and school is in four more days… First off, I would like to say for those people out there who haven't received reviews for me but dutifully review this story, I passionately hate Harry/Draco fics and the ship itself. If you write that, you should know I refuse to review it. It's not that I don't like your stuff, it's just that I'm against the pairing itself because… well, I'm not really sure why. I just don't. So don't be mad, just know that's why. Also, please don't hold back when you review this. Don't say it's cool and nice just so I'll send a happy review your way—it won't work, because I'm still trying to be more constructive than placating. I'd finally like to thank my newest reviewers: hpstoryguy, temporarily conjugated verb, Pointed Tooth Fairy, Madame Meow, and Selan, as well as reviewers from before, oncemorewithfeeling (is this a Buffy reference? Because if it is, I might have to kiss you) and Ravine-Limit (who has a Harry/Cedric fic himself, so go check it out if you get the time). Thanks SO much, guys. Feedback is important especially for this chapter because it was so angsty. Ta!

Four more days till school…(whining cry) **Dusk Magnum**


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